I actually don't hate the Zoë Lama part as much as I pretend to hate it, even though I didn't exactly sign up to be the ruler of nearly everyone around me.
It started when I was just a kid. At home, it might have had something to do with not having a father around to do helpful fatherish things, like knowing when to up the bran in Grandma's cereal or how to use clear nail polish to stop a run in Mom's stockings. With teachers, it just sort of happened. Wa-ay back in kindergarten.
Kindergartners, as everyone knows, are a mess. They've got runny noses, missing teeth, shoes on the wrong feet and stubby bangs they've sawed off with safety scissors—just to see if it would work. Every time they pull off a boot they lose a sock, and if anyone, anywhere is going to lick an icy handrail, you can bet your favorite underwear it'll be a kindergartner. Not only that, but they talk with a lisp and fall in love with their teacher.
Well...some do.
It's not that I thought Mr. Silverberg was going to leave his wife to marry me. I wasn't stupid. Besides, I barely came up to his knees. I just liked being around him and invented all sorts of reasons to help him. I organized the washable marker bins, shined-up the building blocks and sorted my classmates' boots from biggest to smallest to teacher's.
After a while, he started to count on me to help and asked me to pass out papers, help on field trips and, most importantly, watch the class while he popped out for a smoke—his one and only putrid habit. And when Ms. Narck, the elementary school principal, dropped by, I always had the perfect cover for him—he ran out of burnt sienna crayons, he accidentally stapled his tie to his thumb, his wife drove her car into a pond.
A six-year old can dream, can't she?
I learned two things that year. First, even if your teacher's wife's Volvo lands in a pond, eventually she'll probably dry off and go home. Second, if you know your way around a teacher's ego, this whole school thing becomes a breeze.
How I became Zoë Lama to the students is still something of a legend. It all started at the top of the jungle gym when I was still about the size of Thumbelina, when I defused Patrick "The Raptor" Hammens. Meanest kid in the school and, to me, about the size of a giant.
From that day on, requests came in almost daily for advice ranging from how to break in a new pair of flip flops with minimal bleeding, to how to crush on a boy in a younger grade without destroying your reputation.
I soon discovered an added bonus. Being the knower-of-all-unwritten rules automatically provides me with an untouchable reputation—a happy side effect I'm thankful for every single day. As long as The Zoë Lama reigns, my status is safe. The day my reign ends is the day my peoples will drop the peace and harmony crap and eat me alive.
